Coming Back Home
by nickeldime17
Summary: She wasn’t really sure which one of them warmed his bed at night. Season 3, possible spoilers. DeanJo
1. Home to Her

Title: Home to Her

Rating: M for use of f-word and slight description of coupling.

Pairing: Dean/Jo (if you don't like it, don't read it)

Note: I wrote this at 1:00 am and I didn't proofread it. It wasn't meant to be great, and the style and grammar is probably wonky, but I like it. I love feedback, and, as long as it is constructive, I welcome criticism. Please no flaming or anything overtly hostile/hurtful.

She wasn't really sure which one of them warmed his bed at night. Ruby was mysterious, but fun, something Dean had always seemed attracted to. And Bela…Bela was cold and hard and merciless and she knew that called to a side of Dean he didn't always admit to.

No, she wasn't sure which one of them he was fucking, and she wasn't sure when it was she decided she had that much insight into a man she rarely saw, but she was sure of one thing. He came home to her.

The Roadhouse had been rebuilt. Brick and timber and glass, bit by bit, by Sam, Dean, Bobby, Ellen, and any other hunter who had heard about the fate of their old refuge. She had come as soon as she heard, her heart racing, sobbing for Ash's loss, and bursting with a joy for her mother's life that only a hurtful parting can bring about.

That first night had been a celebration. For those who were alive and for the lives of those who were lost. She fell into his bed, drunk and giggling, wanting him in a way she'd never wanted anyone. He'd been drunk too, he'd been celebrating and commiserating for awhile before she joined in, but he'd touched her like he'd known her body before. He'd touched her in ways that made her gasp and grip and sigh and ache, and he'd whispered her name so softly in her ear as he went rigid with release above her.

It had been a mistake. She knew it when the harsh light of morning woke them and he stared at her with guilt in his green eyes. She knew it when he tensed up, dressing with quick movements and refusing to meet her gaze. "Dean," she murmured, slipping off the bed, "Look at me."

A quick glance and he turned crimson. "Jesus, Jo, put on some damn clothes!"

She sighed, so different from the ones he'd caused just a few hours before, and picked up the tank top and pink panties she'd spotted on the ground. When covered, she'd turned back to find him staring at the soiled sheets of the bed. At the few drops of dried blood that gave evidence to what shouldn't have happened.

"Jo?"

She stared back at him, face expressionless. She'd always wanted it to be special, to be with The One. High school hadn't brought her that guy, at college she was the freaky knife girl who was hit on by other freaks or guys looking to win a bet, and at the Roadhouse…The Roadhouse was always full of hunters looking for a one or two night stand, a girl easily lulled by beer and pizza and Zeppelin. She wasn't that type of girl, even though she knew he was that type of hunter.

But he was still The One.

"Wrong place, wrong time, Dean."

She was giving him the out he needed. Needed because she had been a virgin, and because he was determined to think of her as the little sister he never had. Needed, because if she pushed him on this, he'd never come back. And _she_ needed him to come back.

So she slid on the jeans that a landed by the radiator and brushed past him, already half out the door before he made a move toward her. She winked, and the hand that he had stretched out dropped to his side. "Don't worry," she said, trying hard to keep a smile on her face, "I won't ever tell my mother."

He smiled back at that, and she remembered being glad even as the tears started to sting. "She'd kill me."

"Yeah."

He and Sam were gone the next day. She settled back into life at the Roadhouse, safe as her mother could make her without being at a school hundreds of miles away. But she didn't think she could leave again, didn't think she could stand not being with Ellen and the saloon if something were to happen again. Didn't think she could stand not being in her mother's arms when she started dying at the news of Dean Winchester's death.

So she stayed, listening to the gossip, her ears sharp for tales of the Winchester boys, and trying to find a way out of Dean's deal with the crossroads demon. That was how she found out about the girls. She knew they were gorgeous, they'd been to the Roadhouse once, and the hunters still spoke about them with hushed, awed tones even while they made lewd comments about her ass and what they could do to her if she'd only ride back to the motel with them.

The news that Ruby and Bela had assisted the Winchesters or been assisted came more and more frequently, and she tried to tune it out even though it killed her a little bit every time. She knew he had to be doing unspeakable acts to one of them, he wouldn't be that type of hunter if he wasn't, but she wondered, in her heart of hearts, that part that wasn't saying Dean Winchester was a jackass, if he whispered her name with that slight hitch in his tone like he had when he'd breathed 'Jo' in her ear. If he whispered 'Bela' or 'Ruby' as if he couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed to get her beneath him, moaning and clutching at him as if he were the only man in the world who could possibly make her feel this way.

Somehow, she didn't think he did.

And now, he was sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a bottle of beer and still not looking at her. She needed to know. Know if she should start encouraging that new mechanic of Bobby's, Brian, with his dark brown eyes and big, oil stained hands, who looked at her as if he wasn't sure she was quite real or if he was allowed to talk to her.

He pushed the bottle of beer aside and stood, almost as if he knew she was going to approach before she moved an inch. He finally glanced up; freckles obvious on his pale face, and his tired bloodshot eyes caught hers. She stepped forward, feeling hesitant, but he let her come to him, and he followed when she walked past him.

Her apartment out back was small. It hadn't changed since the last time she'd brought him here, drunk and giggling, but circumstances had. She watched as he lay his leather jacket down on the back of her sofa, and left his boots beside her bedroom doorframe. She stayed silent when he lay down on her bed and looked at her with those weary eyes.

Her apron came of easily, a quick pull of a string, and she shucked it toward her tiny computer desk with its rickety wood chair. Her shoes, practical for waitressing, were toed off and left just inside the door. She moved forward, sitting near his head, her back against the headboard, and placed a hand on his head.

Those too-old eyes stared at her, half guilty and half wistful, and she knew he was still The One and Brian would have to be let down gently. "Jo…" She closed her eyes at his whisper, at the hitch in his breath, and shook her head. He didn't need to say anything. She didn't need him to throw on the Dean Winchester charm and pretend everything was all right.

Because everything wasn't all right.

He was running out of time, and there was no solution in anyone's sights. She ran her fingers through his hair; absently noting it needed a trim, and felt him relax. When she opened her eyes he had closed his and his breaths were deep and even. And she decided it really didn't matter if he was fucking Bela or Ruby or a waitress or a nurse or whatever type of girl because he was that type of hunter.

He came home to her.


	2. Not for Him

He supposed he was one lucky sonofabitch, because here he was, sandwiched between two of the hottest, most badass chicks in the country, fulfilling the ultimate male fantasy. They moved together, dark and light, surrounding him, encompassing him until he didn't know up from down or left from right and could really only comprehend the pleasure. When it was over, and the three of them were naked and sweaty, Dean reminded himself how lucky he was.

Black strands of hair fell into Ruby's sleepy, haunted grey eyes, the smaller woman's attention all for her partner and not the man that had just slipped from between them. But Bela's cold blue eyes tracked him as he dressed, watching him like a predator with its prey. She tilted her head and streaming moonlight hit the honey strands, making them lighter.

It threw him, and he left swiftly, mask in place, trying not to think of light blonde hair tickling his face or of skin that looked pale silver in the night to his drunken, desire-filled brain.

Sam glanced at him when he entered their motel room, not saying a word, but the raised eyebrow and slight wrinkling of his nose let Dean know what his brother was thinking. He headed straight for the bathroom and a warm shower to rid his body of the stink of sex.

The mirror in the bathroom was small and chipped, and he had to swipe a hand across it to clear the steam that fogged it. His reflection hadn't changed much, despite circumstances. There were a few more scars, faded and barely noticeable, and the sun had made his freckles more apparent. He felt a quick grin at the thought of his freckles and the affect they'd had on the cute little deputy in town, and then he sucked in his breath at the ghosting of fingertips over them.

The memory of her touch wasn't something he wanted. Because she'd touched him and tasted him as if he were the only man to ever exist for her, and he didn't think he could handle that. He, who'd handled so much and dealt with so many women, wasn't meant to be looked at like that, that look in her dark brown eyes that said he was The One.

He wasn't the fucking One, and he most certainly wasn't _her_ One.

And he hated that he remembered far more of that night four months ago than he should. As drunk as he had been, it should have been a hazy dream that they could laugh about in the morning. But they'd screwed up. He'd screwed up when he fell into her bed and let those big brown eyes of hers draw him in.

"Dean?"

"Hold your horses, Sammy," he hissed, not turning to look at the door. He knew Sam would push it, if only because he's used the phrase 'hold your horses.' It wasn't really a Dean-thing to say. But he was lucky, he reminded himself again, as 'Wind Beneath My Wings' filled the room and leaked under the bathroom door.

"What the- DEAN!" Sammy bellowed, and he could hear his brother scrambling to find his cell from wherever Dean had hidden it after messing with the ring tone.

He grinned at his reflection once more, taking note to keep his expression light. Sam had been worrying too much recently, and a prank war had seemed necessary to distract his little brother and prompt himself to stop brooding. He had Sam had been in too close a proximity for too long, Dean was starting to pick up Sammy's bad habits of frowning with his eyes and furrowing his brows.

Eight more months before his time was up. Sometimes it seemed like an eternity away and sometimes it felt like it was happening tomorrow. It made him wonder about what would happen when it got closer. Would he fight it even though he'd sworn not to? Or would he accept it? A type of relief…sometimes he just got so _tired_…

"Un," he grunted, running a hand through his hair and pushing his thoughts in another direction. He needed a haircut. She'd told him that, and for just a moment he let himself picture her; hands on those slim hips, a glare worthy of her mother focused on him. He'd made some smartass remark back and she'd whacked him with the rag she'd been cleaning the bar with, rolling her eyes with exasperation.

She was such a spitfire. It was something he'd admired in her from the beginning; the defiant tilt of her chin, her sassy mouth, and the way she walked so confidently in those tight jeans- No, he told himself firmly, finally leaving the bathroom to settle on his bed. The TV volume was low, and Sam was still on his phone, smiling softly at the speaker on the other end.

Dean didn't let himself have those types of thoughts about Jo Harvelle. He stubbornly refused to have those types of thoughts. The only way he let himself think of Jo was as a pain-in-the-ass little sister who didn't know when to back down.

"We'll probably be back at the Roadhouse before the end of the week." At Sammy's matter-of-fact comment, Dean whipped his attention from the monster movie to his brother. "Yeah," his brother was saying, "see you then. Bye."

"Dude," Dean threw a pillow at him, "Who was that?"

Sam shot him a confused look, "Jo."

His heart stuttered a little and he felt himself starting to glower. "Why would we go to the Roadhouse?"

If anything Sam looked more confused. "We just finished off a kiss of vampires, Bela and Ruby don't need our help with that poltergeist report, and we've got no cases lined up. Jo said she and Ellen had a couple of folders that might interest us."

"Still-"

"Dude what's your problem?" Sam exploded.

"What's _my_ problem?" Dean exploded right back, "_I_ don't have a problem."

"No?" Sam countered, "Then explain to me why every time I mention the Roadhouse you change the subject, start a fight, or go completely silent! Explain to me why we keep hooking up with those…those sociopaths of women for hunts we don't need help with or why you feel the need to screw every single female we cross in every single town! Go ahead Dean, explain it to me."

"Sam," he bit out, no longer looking at his brother.

"Nothing to say, Dean? Want my theory? I think this has something to do with why I got stuck covering a shift for Jo last time we were there. And I think the fact that you disappeared around the same-"

"Sam," he stressed, a warning in his eyes as he met his brother's gaze, "Drop it. I said," as Sam began to open his mouth again, "Drop. It."

The younger brother flopped onto his own bed, jaw clenching. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

He made sure to keep his tone light as he turned the volume back up on the television. After all, it wasn't Sammy's fault that Jo had called him. But he still felt a tick of anger that she hadn't called him, hadn't asked to speak with him. He'd deflowered her for fuck's sake, and she was acting like nothing had happened.

Maybe he was making it out to be too big a deal. Maybe she just needed someone she trusted for her first time, someone a little bit wild to get it out of her system so that she could move on with someone more like Sam.

His hand gripped the remote tighter. He had just been imagining that she'd looked at him like he was The One. Hell, she was probably curled up next to that mechanic kid right this very minute, something he was trying desperately not to picture because he was afraid it would turn into a fantasy of him strangling the younger man which was completely unwarranted.

Jo deserved someone like that. Someone not dangerous. Girls like her were meant for guys like that. Sweet guys, who had a respectable job, a steady income, who would see her everyday, and would protect her from the advances of the lonely hunters that gathered at the bar. She was meant to be cherished.

She wasn't meant for a guy like him.

Not for him.


End file.
